The Lilac Wood
by WeAreAllBornToDie
Summary: The Alpha Pack isn't the only thing out there that's after virgins. (or the one in which Stiles accidentally brings home a unicorn)


_"The most professional curse ever snarled or croaked or thundered can have no effect on a pure heart."_

_ ~ The Last Unicorn_

* * *

i.

Predictably, just when it seems Stiles' life couldn't possibly get any worse, a unicorn follows him home.

It's the morning after Scott, Derek, and Isaac's little Super-Exclusive-Werewolf-Boyband -Suicide-Mission (as Stiles has taken to calling it) at Beacon Hills High. Surprisingly enough, it hadn't ended up being a suicide mission after all, although Derek had apparently gotten shredded a little. Uncharitably, Stiles hoped it hurt.

He'd come home as soon as he'd met up with Scott to make sure everyone was okay. Derek, he could care less about, but Isaac was like a cross between a disney prince and a baby koala, and Scott was all he had left, besides his dad. Stiles would do his _damndest _to protect both of them.

Derek took care of Boyd and Cora, Isaac went off to do... whatever it was Isaac did in his little cherub world, and Scott and Stiles went home together. Stiles has already gotten a call from his dad (they'd found Emily's body, he said, and Stiles felt a pang of grief for Caitlyn's sake) to say he wouldn't be home until morning, and Stiles doesn't want to be alone. Not tonight. He communicates this to Scott through their own made up best friend language of eyebrow wriggling, and Scott nods.

When they make it back to Stiles', a deep exhaustion is settling into his bones, and looking at Scott, Stiles can see he feels it too. They strip quickly and efficiently, Stiles pulling a loose cotton undershirt over his boxers, while Scott refrains from wearing a shirt at all (exhibitionist, Stiles thinks, again uncharitably, just because we all don't have godly, sculpted werewolf bodies), and collapse into bed.

Scott is a passive aggressive cuddler, despite his lengthy protests otherwise, and the minutes they're in bed he worms an arm and a leg over Stiles like a really adorable octopus. This, at least, hasn't changed much since they were kids, even if lately it seems like everything else has. It started when Scott's dad left, the need to be close to someone, the need for comfort. And when Stiles' mother passed away, Scott had appeared at his door that night and held him close without a word.

Sometimes, Stiles thinks as he falls asleep, he doesn't love anybody in the world as much as he loves Scott.

The next morning, Stiles wakes to the highly unpleasant sensation of wetness against his skin, and opens his eyes to see Scott drooling on his arm. Stiles has been shoved over during the night, and is now occupying maybe fifteen percent of his bed's surface area. Scott, sleeping very peacefully, has spread himself over Stiles' bed like he owns it.

"You don't own my bed." Stiles mutters in defiance as he untangles himself from his best friend and goes downstairs to make toast and take his Adderall. It's still pretty early, but the sun is up and it looks nice outside, so Stiles swings open the back porch door and figures he'll go outside for a bit and-

There is a unicorn in his backyard.

There is a unicorn in his backyard, and it is _sparkling._

Stiles makes a very high pitched noise that he will deny later, and the thing lifts its head and looks at him. Stiles takes this moment to beat a very hasty retreat back into his house, because while the stories his mother had told him as a child would lead him to believe unicorns are pure, innocent creatures, he's never had a reason to do any research on them, and that horn looks worryingly sharp.

"SCOTT." he shouts instead, because if he has to deal with magical creatures from little kids wet dreams this early in the morning, he refuses to do it alone, "THERE IS A UNICORN IN MY BACKYARD."

From somewhere upstairs, there is a conspicuous thump, and Stiles waits, impatiently tapping his foot, as Scott makes his groggy way down the stairs, dragging on a pair of jeans as he does so (still no shirt, godammit Scott).

"Whuz'go'inon?" he mumbles as he staggers into the kitchen. Stiles nobly wards off the desire to laugh at the Farrah Fawcett bed-head his best friend is currently sporting. He points out the window to his backyard. Scott looks, looks again, and turns to Stiles slack-jawed and wide-eyed.

"There is a unicorn in your backyard." he says, in a tone of wonder. Stiles sighs.

"Yeah, so, what are we going to do about it?"

Scott knits his eyebrows together in concentration, and adopts what Stiles likes to call his Thinking Face.

"Um, we could, we could, find... find a girl? Like, unicorns like girls, don't they?"

Stiles ponders this. "Yeah, but, do we know actually know any girls who are still virgins? I think it has to be a virgin, dude." Heather's pale, waxy face flashes briefly through his head, and he pushes the painful image away.

"We could just leave it there?"

"I could be wrong on this, but I think the neighbors might complain."

"Well, what if we go try to... talk to it or something?"

Stiles looks at his friend in disbelief.

"You want to go talk to the magic horse?"

Scott shrugs. "Couldn't hurt."

Stiles groans.

"Okay, okay, but for the record, this is a Very Bad Idea."

ii.

They approach the unicorn with extreme caution (because hey, that horn is fucking _sharp_), and Stiles tugs on Scott's belt loop to stop him when they get about ten feet away from it. For a moment, they look at each-other, not sure what to do or even how to go about doing it. Finally, Stiles decides to be, as per usual, the better man, and steps forward.

"Um," he clears his throat nervously. The unicorn is still staring at him unblinkingly, dark brown eyes very, very old in a way that makes him feel a little dizzy.

"Er," he tries again, a little louder this time, "hello, majestic beast. I'm Stiles, and this is Scott." he jerks a thumb back at Scott (who looks like he's trying not to laugh, the bastard).

"We come in peace, and, uh, we mean no disrespect or anything, but could you maybe consider vacating the premises? You're very pretty and everything, but also kind of unprecedented in my life right now, and anyway neither of us are young beautiful ladies, so you might want to try somewhere else for that... particular... um, thing. Deal."

Scott is now making ugly choking noises in an attempt to hold back snorting, and Stiles whirls to jab a finger into his solar plexus and hiss at him.

"You try talking to the fucking _unicorn_, smartass."

Scott's eyes go very wide, and Stiles takes a moment to rejoice in the fact that he apparently can be intimidating after all, before he notices that Scott's eyes are looking over his shoulder. He gulps, and turns around very slowly. The unicorn is now standing directly behind him, close enough that Stiles can see the shimmer reflected in the silver hairs on its chest- and wow, that's a little close for comfort.

Stiles may or may not climb Scott like a tree in abject panic, because _holy fucking shit_ that horn is sharp.

"N-nice horsie." he says weakly. Scott looks at the unicorn, who is still staring at Stiles with near single-minded attention, and back at Stiles, who is still clinging to him like a baby chimpanzee, and understanding dawns on his face.

"What?" Stiles demands, knowing Scott well enough to know his friend has just stumbled upon a Revelation.

"You," Scott says slowly, and his voice sounds kind of weird, "are a virgin,"

Stiles levels him with a stare of supreme disapproval.

"Scott, I fail to see what my-"

"Stiles." Scott cuts him off, "I don't think that unicorn is looking for a young virgin girl."

Stiles blinks, his mouth forming a little 'o' of surprise. He looks at the unicorn. It nudges his arm with its silky white muzzle.

"Well, shit." he says flatly.

* * *

The title and the quote are both taken, appropriately, from The Last Unicorn by Peter S. Beagle, which is one of the most beautiful books I have ever read, and which I would highly recommend to everyone. UNICORNS AND STILES.


End file.
